


It's Your Party

by ladyknightley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 03:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15524721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightley/pseuds/ladyknightley
Summary: With his birthday falling the day before Harry's, and Harry always throwing a party for all their friends, Neville can sometimes get a bit overlooked. So, one year, his girlfriend decides to change that...





	It's Your Party

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on my tumblr on his actual birthday but, as usual, am a bit late cross posting here. Nevermind: happy belated birthday Neville (and thanks to the person who asked for a fic centering on his birthday)!

“And he still has absolutely no idea?”

“None at all,” Hannah says, and they exchange conspiratorial glances, which they quickly wipe off their faces as Neville re-enters the room. Augusta Longbottom wipes invisible crumbs off the coffee table, and Hannah smooths out invisible creases in her skirt.

“Thanks again for the cake, Gran,” he says. “And I’ll definitely get a lot of wear out of those new wellies. But I think it’s time for me and Hannah to go—our reservation’s at seven.”

“Yeah,” Hannah cuts in apologetically. “About that. Neville, I’m so, so sorry but whilst you were in the bathroom, a message came through from the pub. Everyone who’s supposed to be on tonight has come down with some bug, and they’ve got absolutely no one there, and it’s such a nice day that they’re bursting at the seams. Tom practically begged me to come in—there’s no one else, and he’ll have to close otherwise.”

His intense disappointment is clear, but, to his credit, thinks Hannah, he doesn’t for a moment suggest that she refuse to go in and help out, even though it _is_ his birthday and the two of them have had this meal booked at the newly-opened and very fancy restaurant at the other end of Diagon Alley for weeks.

At least as far as he knows.

“What a bummer,” he says.

“I know,” she sighs. “But, look, what I was thinking was, you should come in with me, and then the minute it looks like it’s getting quiet or if Tom manages to contact someone else, we can go to our table, and—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Neville says. “I don’t mind staying to keep you company, Gran. I couldn’t help but see those greenhouses earlier—your flutterby bushes are in a terrible state, and I could get a headstart on pruning them back.”

“Come on, you can’t spend your birthday doing that,” Hannah says, cajoling. “Look, I bet Tom’s just exaggerating. I’ll help him out for twenty minutes, get things calmed down, and then we’ll head off. You just come with me, and we’ll leave as soon as we can.”

“Honestly, I don’t mind,” Neville says. “There’ll be other birthdays, and besides, there’s Harry’s party tomorrow and we can’t miss that. You just go and do your job, and I’ll see you tonight. You don’t mind me staying, do you Gran?”

Hannah shoots a look of panic at Augusta Longbottom behind his back, but she underestimates her. “Neville Longbottom,” the older woman says severely. “I do mind _very much_ that you are going to leave your young lady in the lurch like this! If things are as bad as Tom says they are—and, poor dear, he sounded absolutely frantic, and at his age, too, that can’t be good for his heart! Anyway, if things are as bad as he says they are, you should absolutely go and lend a hand. And if, as Hannah suggests, it’s actually much better, the two of you can leave early, and have a wonderful evening almost as planned. She’s a very sensible girl, your Hannah, and you’d do well to listen to her!”

“Well,” Neville says, shrugging, “I guess I can’t argue with that. To the Leaky?”

“Thanks, love,” Hannah says, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. “And I’m sorry things aren’t going to go as planned. You’re only twenty-one once, I know, so I’m sorry it’s turned out this way.”

“There’ll be other birthdays,” Neville shrugs. “It’s fine.”

She squeezes his hand. “I’ll floo through first, and see you there when you’ve said goodbye to your gran properly. Goodbye, Mrs Longbottom!” She widens her eyes slightly, trying to add a thank you, and she thinks Augusta gets it, because when Neville has his back to her, busy helping Hannah into the fireplace, she gives her two big thumbs up, and Hannah has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself laughing out loud. She steps into the floo, states her destination, and scrambles out as fast as she can at the other end.

“ _Finally_!”

“We were beginning to think you’d got lost!”

“Is he coming?”

“How long have we got?”

“Everyone, QUIET!” Hannah roars, with the practised ease of a bartender. She breaks into a smile at the sight: all of Neville’s friends, crowded into the Leaky, standing in front of a huge banner with Happy Birthday Neville (courtesy of Dean Thomas) and stacks and stacks of presents. The whole old-DA crowd is there, along with loads of their other friends and relations, and Ginny and Harry are stationed behind the bar (open, courtesy of Harry) to give Hannah a night off. “Neville’s on his way,” she adds, slightly unnecessarily. She grins. “Thanks, everyone. Now...lights?”

She addresses this last to Ron, who obligingly flicks his Deluminator, and the pub is plunged into darkness, the curtains having been drawn in advance by some thoughtful person. They wait for a beat—for two beats, three, and then—

“Hello? Ow! Bugger. Why’s it so dark?”

“SURPRISE!”

Ron flicks the lights back on, and everyone cheers—then laughs, seeing how genuinely surprised Neville looks. They all start singing the birthday song as Lavender and Parvati bring out a cake, complete with 21 candles, and Neville, still stunned, glances over at Hannah. She smiles, pushing him forwards towards the cake. He takes the surprise well, waving and nodding and winking at people, but as they finish singing, and give him three cheers, he reaches behind and loops a hand around Hannah’s wrist, holding on tight. He blows out the candles, starts thanking people, chatting and laughing with them, but the whole time, he doesn’t let go of her hand.

Everyone converges on them _en masse_ , and he blinks. “HEM HEM.” Everyone turns, and looks back over at Ginny, now kneeling on the bar. She rings the little bell there. “The bar is now officially open!” There’s a slight pause, then at least half of their friends surge towards it. Ginny looks delighted, jumping down and positioning herself behind the Butterbeer taps. “I’ve always wanted to do that!”

Lavender and Parvati procure a knife from somewhere and start slicing up and handing out birthday cake; Harry and Ginny are doing sterling service at the bar, and the rest of their friends are lining up to wish Neville a happy birthday and to hand him gifts. He’s just thanked Hermione and Ron for the hand-knitted scarf (complete with tiny _mimbulus mimbletonia_ print) when there’s a slight gap in the sheer number of people headed towards them, so he turns to Hannah, properly, for the first time since he got to the pub.

“What,” he asks, unable to keep the smile off his face, “is all this about?!”

“Well,” says Hannah. “D’you remember a few weeks ago, when I asked you what you wanted to do for your birthday?”

“...honestly? Not really.”

“Let me fill you in...”

*

It had just been a passing comment really. School was nearly, but not quite, out for the summer, so she’d come up to see him at Hogwarts during the day on her break. He’d been frazzled, caught between a class of second years and fourth years, neither of whom—officially, at least—were supposed to be slacking off, as they were both returning as normal next year. But, with only three days left of the school year, everyone was hyperactive with excitement and badly behaved, and keeping them under control had been a challenge. When she’d asked him about his birthday, in a vague attempt to distract him from his woes, he hadn’t really been listening.

“Oh, you know,” he’d said, waving a hand. “Whatever. I’m not fussed. We’ll be going out the day after, anyway.”

“We will?” Hannah asked, slightly confused. They had no plans that she could remember.

“Yeah,” he’d said, talking more to the Mandrakes he was growing than to her. “Harry always does something for his birthday; we’ll go along to that the day after, and so will everyone else. There’s no point arranging something else, and asking people to come—no one will want to be out two days in a row.”

He hadn’t said it maliciously, she was keen to point out to Harry, later. He didn’t secretly hate Harry for stealing his limelight; he didn’t mean it maliciously, and he certainly wasn’t disappointed that that was the way things were. He was just stating the facts. Harry, always generous to his friends, always threw a party for his birthday, and with Neville’s being the day before...well, it just didn’t make sense to invite the same people out the day before. So Harry had had the big party, and Neville had done something quiet the day before. That’d just been how it had been, since they finished at school.

Harry had been genuinely horrified, though, that Neville might feel put out by this, and it had taken Hannah and Ginny quite a while to talk him down. When they finally had, Harry had immediately suggested that they throw a party for Neville this year and let everyone know it was him, not Harry, they were celebrating.

“Great minds,” Hannah had said, tapping her head conspiratorially. She had happened to catch the two of them in the Leaky by chance later that evening, after seeing Neville, and she’d had plenty of chance to plan something before stumbling across them.

“How about,” Ginny said slowly, sipping her Gillywater, “how about we make it a surprise party?”

“Like I say,” Hannah said, “great minds. I was thinking we could ask the usual crowd, only get them to come on the thirtieth, not the thirty-first.”

“But we could tell Neville we were going to have it on the thirty-first, for Harry,” Ginny said, nodding enthusiastically. “And you could tell him that, I don’t know, the two of you were going out for dinner or something on _his_ birthday—”

“Exactly, and if he heard anything from anyone else, if they let it slip by mistake, he’d just assume they’d be talking about the next day,” Hannah replied. “The only thing is: where would we have it?”

Ginny blinked. “Yeah, it’s not like we know anyone who owns a pub or anything,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Hannah.

“I don’t own the pub,” she replied. “But, okay, sure, you’re right. If I asked, Tom’d close it for the night for us lot. He books out functions all the time. We could have it here.”

Ginny clapped her hands. “It’s settled then!” she’d said, beaming at Hannah.

Harry had immediately offered to cover the cost of an open bar, and Hannah had arranged the food. When they’d told everyone the plan, all of their friends had been in immediately, promising to keep it all a secret from Neville.

And they all promised other things, too.

To make a banner, like Dean had. To bake a cake, like Lavender and Parvati. Lee Jordan had offered to bring his decks and DJ; George Weasley had offered balloons and party poppers and other such items from the Wheezes’ party range. People who didn’t have something to offer asked what he wanted for his birthday, or just promised to turn up, looking delighted at the thought. And Hannah had been so touched by how much everyone cared for Neville—but not as touched, she knew, as he would be.

*

Now, the party’s been going on for a good couple of hours, and everyone is having an absolutely amazing time. Hannah knows this because everyone keeps coming up to her and Neville, and telling them so. They also keep buying him drinks—or at least pressing Harry to give him another.

“Don’t worry,” Harry tells her, “I’m switching every other one with water. I’m not having him be massively hungover for my birthday.” He tips her an enormous wink as he says this, but she knows he’s kidding, because for his birthday, he and Ginny have a reservation for dinner at the fancy restaurant, and, he says, are looking forward to a quite night for a change. She’d watched, earlier, as Neville had gone over to him, and Harry had slapped him on the back and said something to him which made him laugh, and she’d smiled, even though she couldn’t hear it.

Over their months together, Neville’s told her a thing or two about Harry, and this old prophecy, and the life he, Neville, could have led. She knows how they’re tied together, those two boys—but she’s glad Neville is who he is. She’d stick by him no matter what, if it came to it, but she doesn’t think she has it in her to be a Ginny Weasley.

Who is, she notes, doing a fantastic job at the bar. If she didn’t have ten Galleons on the Harpies winning the League again this year, she’d try to poach her. Neville is currently dancing the Hippogriff with Luna—everyone is giving them an incredibly large berth—and she’s so enthralled with watching them that she doesn’t notice the person come up to tap her on the shoulder and say hello—at least at first.

She works out pretty quickly that Harry and Ginny had told Hagrid about the party, who in turn appears to have informed a few of his colleagues—who are, of course, Neville’s colleagues too—about the party, and she thinks its lovely that they’ve turned out for Neville. Still, it isn’t every day that you have to try to hold a conversation with your old Transfiguration teacher stroke boyfriend’s current boss after several glasses of elf-made wine. She likes to think she’s doing a good job, as Professor McGonagall is nodding along and answering her questions normally, and she’s just asked her if she’s seen Professor Sprout recently, when—

“SUPRESSOR MCGONAGALL!” Neville lurches over to them, beaming. “How LOVELY to see you. Many happy returns of the day.” He hiccups, still beaming, and Hannah hastily turns her laugh into a hacking cough.

“Many happy returns of the day to you, too,” the Headmistress replies, masking a grin of her own. “But, please. I’ve told you before—do call me Minerva. And if that is too much, Professor will do nicely.”

Neville nods. “Of course. Yes. Good.” He hiccups again, closes his eyes, then seems to visibly sober up. “Oh, Merlin. Hello, Minerva. Have you come to fire me for being drunk and in charge?”

“My dear Professor Longbottom, need not worry. You are clearly not in charge of _anything_ ,” Professor McGonagall says, smiling. “I have come, however, to wish you a very happy birthday.”

Neville thanks her. “I’m so glad you’re not going to fire me for brining the good name of Hogwarts into ill-repute,” he manages, a sentence which would impress Hannah at the best of times, let alone right now.

Professor McGonagall eyes him beadily. “I would only consider that you were bringing the good name of Hogwarts into ill-repute if I heard that it was your birthday and you were _not_ suitably celebrating,” she says. They take a moment to work this out. “As it is,” she gestures around, “you seem to be doing a fine job. Well done. I shall be sure to mention this on your Annual Review. Now. Do you think it might be possible to get a small Firewhiskey?”

“Coming right up,” Harry, who has been listening in, says, pulling out a glass and a very full bottle. “Just say when!”

Hannah meets Neville’s eye, and the two of them burst into laughter yet again. “Come on,” Neville says, “let’s dance.” He pulls her on to the dancefloor, and they sway together for a moment. “So,” he says, “you did all this?”

She shrugs. “I had help,” she says.

He kisses her, softly and quickly. “Thanks,” he says.

She smiles, and kisses him back just as quickly. “You’re welcome,” she says. And then, “You deserve it.” And the party goes on—and on.


End file.
